


Pearl Necklace

by amyfortuna



Series: 2016 Season of Kink (Card 1) [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Face-Fucking, Facials, Half-Sibling Incest, Incest, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Pearl Necklace, Slightly Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7467300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor gives Fingolfin a pearl necklace. Yes, in both senses of the word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pearl Necklace

**Author's Note:**

> This fulfils my Season of Kink square for 'bukkake/facials'.

The gifts had started out relatively innocuous: a golden statuette of Nessa dancing or Tulkas flexing his muscles, sapphire and silver earrings which jangled tunefully when Fingolfin set them in his ears, bracelets of white shell dyed with streaks of blue. Then he received the long string of pearls, imported from Alqualondë at great cost. 

It was the pearls, really, which tipped Fingolfin off as to the purpose of the mysterious gifts. Oh, the identity of the giver was no mystery. Of course it was Fëanor. But the reason for them - that was the mystery that kept Fingolfin awake at night, counting the pearls by silver light and wondering how it would be if he simply walked down the hall, naked save for jangling earrings and bracelets, naked save for the rope of pearls, and crawled into Fëanor's bed. 

Pearls were spoken of among the Eldar as 'Osse's seed'. A gift of them betokened the giver's lust, and the stronger it was, the more pearls were given. New brides expected a string of pearls on the occasion of their first wedding anniversary, and wore them proudly, blushing with delight, in the markets and the court. But pearls were often exchanged as well among those who loved less formally, though these were not often so openly displayed. Indeed, it had been a source of much scandal when Indis appeared in the court a year _before_ her marriage with a rope of pearls looped twice about her fair throat. 

Fingolfin wound the long strand of pearls four times around his own throat, and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were wide with anticipation, mingled with a bit of trepidation. What if Fëanor had meant something else entirely by it? What if Fëanor could see his own desires and was simply mocking him? He was young - not of age to marry, and although he was tall, his body did not quite yet have the build of one fully grown. 

Fëanor, though, had been married by the time he was the age Fingolfin was now, and clearly knew he was no stranger to desire, from the glances they had exchanged. And the tokens sent to him were not those a loving brother would send, but the gifts of an eager would-be lover. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned away, threw on a light robe over his nakedness - as much as he liked the idea of wandering the halls naked to find Fëanor, he didn't really want to be spotted by some member of the household staff - blew out the candle, and left the room, closing the door behind him as if he were still sleeping in there. 

Fëanor's rooms were not far away, and no one was about. Silver light flooded the hallway through the windows set in the roof, and his bare feet made no sound on the soft carpet. He passed down one corridor into the next one over, where Fëanor's rooms were, along with Finwë's. Their father and his mother were away just now, travelling to one of the smaller towns for a local festival, and much of the palace was empty. Fëanor had not gone with them, as he had only just returned from a journey to the halls of Aulë the day before. 

There was no lock on Fëanor's door, or else it was unlocked for him, and Fingolfin pushed it open, peering round half shamefacedly, almost wishing he had not come. Fëanor lay on his large bed at the far side of the room, at first glance appearing to be peacefully sleeping. He had thrown off the thin coverlet and lay naked, his body shining in the silver light. Fingolfin tiptoed over to him, taking off the robe he was wearing and laying it down onto a chair as he passed by. 

Fëanor was glorious. Fingolfin looked at him in awe. His warm brown skin was smooth, every muscle gleaming as though it had been oiled. He lay on his back, and Fingolfin, for a moment, didn't dare look where he really wanted to, but after a moment, glanced downward at Fëanor's cock, instinctively comparing it with his own. In truth he could not tell whether it was larger or smaller than the one dangling between his own legs; all he knew was that it looked beautiful and enticing. 

He raised his head again, taking the chance to stare his fill at Fëanor's beautiful face. It was so lovely that it might have been the face of a Vala, but Fingolfin felt (privately, in the depths of his own heart) that even the perfect face of a Vala, sculpted and measured and designed, could not compare to this living testament to the beauty of the Children of Eru. Fëanor's brow was high and fair, betokening his intelligence, his eyes were a moody grey, able to both flash with delight and rage with inner fire, his lips were full and slightly pouted in sleep, even his nose was a pleasure to look at, a marvel among noses. His black hair lay in waves around his face, framing it perfectly for Fingolfin's delight. He wore no jewellery or emblem, here in the privacy of his bed, and Fingolfin thought that the plain simplicity of his face and body without them was the most beautiful of all. 

Fingolfin leaned forward, eyes intent on memorising Fëanor's face as a picture to carry in his heart forever. But after a time, he could no longer stop himself from disturbing him, and bent forward, his bracelets jingling a little when he steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost, to kiss that pouting mouth. The first touch stole his breath completely, but he could not draw back. He increased the pressure instead, bringing his arms up around Fëanor's head, sliding his tongue along Fëanor's lips. 

Fëanor breathed in, half a sigh, and opened up for him, whispering, "Nolo," under his breath. Fingolfin fell into the hot bliss of Fëanor's mouth under his, and only squeaked in delight when Fëanor wrapped his arms around him and dragged him onto the bed, rolling them over. 

"You came!" Fëanor said, breaking off their kiss to stare down at him with amazed delight. "I wasn't sure you would, or even that you would understand my message." 

"Pearls?" Fingolfin said, grinning up. "Not subtle, Fëanáro." 

"Hmm," Fëanor said, settling between Fingolfin's legs, and pushed his arms up over his head, cocking his head in pleasure at the sounds his bracelets made. "Just look at you. I want to absolutely devour you." 

Fingolfin shivered. "Have me. All of me." He relaxed against the bed, deliberately yielding. 

Fëanor looked at him like he'd been given a feast and wasn't quite sure where to start. He settled for a kiss to his collarbone, just below the strands of pearls around Fingolfin's neck, then moved down to bite lightly at his shoulder. "I'm going to kiss you everywhere." He nuzzled against Fingolfin's chest, tongue darting out to lick a nipple. "And then I'm going to come all over you." 

"Yes," Fingolfin said. "Please." He squirmed lightly, aroused beyond measure by Fëanor's words. The thought of having Fëanor's seed on his skin, of rubbing it into himself so that the perfume of it would never fade, was more entrancing than anything else he had experienced in his life. "I want to taste you too." 

"Mmm." Fëanor hummed against Fingolfin's chest, pressing kisses and small bites all across his torso and down the slightly soft curve of his belly. "I think we can arrange that. But first..." He bent his head and took Fingolfin's shaft into his mouth, laving it lovingly with wet kisses and licks. 

Fingolfin wanted to bring his hands down and tangle them into Fëanor's hair, wanted to press as deep into Fëanor's throat as he could, wanted to thrust into that hot mouth. But he could not bring himself to move. His entire focus was narrowed in on what Fëanor was doing; every tiny lick, every kiss, each small caress of his hand felt like it was enveloping the whole of him in bliss. 

He was going to come. It was too soon, too quick, but Fëanor was so good at what he was doing. Fingolfin threw his head back, staring up at the carved ceiling, gasping breaths escaping him as sensation overwhelmed him and his seed shot from him into Fëanor's warm and waiting mouth. 

"Oh stars above," he breathed when he could figure out how to form words again. Fëanor laughed softly, and pressed a bite into his inner thigh. It should have hurt, but in Fingolfin's overwhelmed post-orgasmic state, it was just more sensation, and he lay limp, wrung out, satiated for now. 

"Stay just as you are," Fëanor said after a moment, releasing him. 

"Oh good," Fingolfin said, 'because I don't think I can move." The look Fëanor gave him was pleasure and satisfaction itself, with a hint of smugness, and he climbed over Fingolfin, settling down atop his chest, knees to either side of him. 

"Open your mouth, Nolo," Fëanor said. "You wanted to taste me." 

Fingolfin hastened to obey, and Fëanor guided his cock between his brother's lips. 

The taste of him was heady, beyond words. Fingolfin sucked at him eagerly, remembering to cover his teeth with his lips, trying to take more of him in. After a moment of trying to strain his neck leaning forward to lick, Fingolfin deliberately lay back, allowing Fëanor to lean forward, bracing his hands on the headboard of the bed above Fingolfin's head, and push deeper. 

He was slow, careful to ensure that Fingolfin could breathe around him, controlled and unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world. Fingolfin adjusted to him bit by bit, learning how to open his mouth fully, how to breathe through his nose, how to use his tongue to lick the head of Fëanor's cock when he drew back, making him gasp. The gently deliberate in and out motion of Fëanor's shaft in his mouth seemed to go on and on for a long time. At some point Fingolfin brought his arms down so that he could grasp Fëanor's buttocks in his hands. As he sucked, his eyes shut without his conscious decision to close them; he was utterly relaxed, totally calm. 

After what seemed an eternity of this, Fëanor slid back, and Fingolfin opened his eyes to see Fëanor touching himself, eyes closed, cock pointed at Fingolfin's face and neck, at the pearl necklace itself, in fact. Fëanor's hand was slow to start with but after a moment his breath, which had been so carefully controlled all the time Fingolfin had been sucking him, sped up noticeably, and soon his hand did likewise. 

Fëanor opened his eyes and looked down at Fingolfin. "Are you ready? I'm going to come on your face." 

Fingolfin let out a strangely-pitched noise of breathless assent, only just now realising he was as hard as a rock himself once again. Fëanor stroked himself harder, faster, and pearly liquid began to appear at the tip of his cock, then he moaned, low and desperate, and came. Warm seed spurted onto Fingolfin's skin - his throat, his chin, his lips - and onto the necklace itself. Fingolfin, instinctively, licked his lips, and more seed landed on his tongue, in his mouth. It was like being bathed in Fëanor - the scent of him all around him, covering him until he could smell or taste nothing else. 

After a long moment, Fëanor sat back, eyes closed, head dropped down, panting. Fingolfin was still holding him, but now felt that he was truly supporting him, holding him steady in a way he had not needed to before. 

"Do you want more?" Fëanor said, opening his eyes. 

Fingolfin nodded eagerly, and a smile lit up Fëanor's face. "So do I." He reached down and brushed his fingers across the semen coating Fingolfin's neck and the pearl necklace, gathering it up. Fingolfin held his breath, wondering what Fëanor was going to do, staring up at him quizzically. 

Sliding his wet hand between his own legs, Fëanor fumbled for a moment. It all became clear to Fingolfin then - he was preparing himself to take Fingolfin's cock between his thighs. Fingolfin's head went light with anticipation and dizzy arousal; he had not expected this, would have been more than happy to have Fëanor's mouth on him again, or his hand. 

Fëanor adjusted himself, bringing his legs down so that Fingolfin's erection slid between them, just below his balls. The clinging heat of him was potent; Fingolfin found himself thrusting again and again, desperate to go on feeling Fëanor forever. Fëanor was hard again now - or perhaps he had always been? - and was thrusting back, grinding himself against Fingolfin's hip. 

Fingolfin lifted his head, Fëanor met him halfway, and their mouths came together, tongues colliding, twining. A storm of sensation was raging through Fingolfin. His breath was ragged, his heart pounded like it was going to explode. Fëanor's skin was hot where they touched, damp with sweat. He looked a little wild, no longer in control. 

They came almost at the same time, Fingolfin ahead by just an eyeblink. Fëanor's seed bathed Fingolfin once again, slippery and warm across his hip, even as he shot his own over Fëanor's thighs. 

Collapsing back into the disheveled sheets, Fingolfin revelled in the scent of Fëanor once again. He was covered with him in every way: jewels and gifts from Fëanor on his body, Fëanor's seed drying on his hip and his chest, Fëanor himself curled up next to him, a hand draped possessively across his chest, in Fëanor's bed where the very air was imbued with him. 

"Stay with me tonight," Fëanor whispered, and Fingolfin's answer was a fervent kiss. 

"Forever, if you'll have me," he said then, and Fëanor smiled.


End file.
